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  The morning mist clung low to the trees as Kael’s envoy moved through the forest path. Only a few riders remained—Quin at his side, and three others from Killian’s original party. The group had broken off at dawn, tasked with reaching the capital first to prepare for the Crown Prince’s arrival without Quirl, Quin knowing it, of course Kael knew Killian identity.

  The forest, though silent, carried a feeling of age—like it remembered stories long forgotten by the world.

  Kael’s hood shadowed his eyes, but he halted his horse with a quiet pull of the reins.

  “…We’ll rest here for a moment,” he murmured.

  Quin raised an eyebrow. “Everything alright?”

  Kael didn’t answer immediately. His senses stirred—not danger, but something calling. He dismounted, boots crunching softly on damp earth, and walked off the path.

  It wasn’t long before he found it.

  Half-hidden beneath vines and moss stood an old shrine, its stone pillars cracked, the offering bowl overturned and blackened by time. Weeds had pushed through the base, and pieces of shattered lanterns littered the ground.

  Kael knelt slowly, brushing away the overgrowth.

  “This used to be sacred ground,” he said under his breath, voice laced with distant sadness he didn’t understand.

  Quin approached behind him, confused. “You recognize this place?”

  Kael hesitated. “…No. But it feels… familiar.” His voice quieter when saying the last words.

  His gloved hand gently straightened the fallen incense holder, setting it upright again. He picked up a broken charm with worn fox patterns and laid it carefully atop the shrine. As he moved, soft chimes whispered with each sway of his braid.

  Then—the wind suddenly stopped.

  A glowing light flickered at the edge of Kael’s vision.

  And she appeared.

  Yunari.*

  The spirit fox stepped forth from the trees with graceful stillness, her nine silver tails rippling like smoke. Ethereal and heartbreakingly beautiful, her turquoise eyes fixed on Kael—unblinking, searching, disbelieving.

  “…Asael?”

  The name slipped out of her like a prayer she thought she’d buried long ago.

  Kael slowly stood, tense but calm. His hand never reached for a weapon.

  Yunari’s voice broke as she stepped closer.

  “I waited. I waited for months after they told me you were gone. They said the chosen one had died. I grieved… I mourned beneath moonlight and moss…”

  She faltered. Her spirit form shimmered with trembling light.

  “And now I see you. Your soul—carved the same.”

  Kael’s lips parted. The name Asael echoed in his bones like a song he once knew but forgot how to sing. Half of his memories has vanished, he couldn't remember them anymore.

  “I… don’t remember,” he admitted softly. “But something in me aches like I do.”

  Yunari let out a long, quiet breath.

  “That is enough.”

  She moved closer, her tails brushing gently against his cloak like the wind itself caressing an old friend.

  Kael knelt once more, hands resuming his task of restoring the shrine with calm precision. This time, not out of obligation—but memory. Yunari watched in silence, her gaze heavy with fondness and sorrow.

  “You once helped me build this shrine,” she whispered. “We lit lanterns and painted charms. You said… you didn’t want me to be alone forever.”

  Kael’s hand paused from brushing Yunari heads.

  “You were never just a spirit to me,” he murmured. “Even now, I don’t know why I feel that way.”

  Quin, watching from a respectful distance, felt something in his chest stir—a sacredness he didn’t dare interrupt.

  Once Kael finished reassembling the small altar, he stood, brushing dust from his knees.

  “I can’t stay long,” he said. “But… I’ll return.”

  Yunari’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears. She lowered her head in a graceful bow.

  “Then I’ll wait, Asael… Kael… My only friend.”

  As her form dissolved into mist and moonlight, Kael turned back to Quin.

  “…Let’s go.”

  Quin gave him a long look. “You okay?”

  Kael didn’t answer. He only smiled faintly.

  “I think I just remembered something… precious.”

  They mounted their horses again, and the envoy moved forward—leaving behind a shrine no longer broken, and a spirit who no longer mourned alone.

  As Kael mounted his horse once more, the last wisp of mist where Yunari once stood drifted slowly across the shrine’s stone floor like a farewell sigh.

  But to the others—Quin and the three men riding behind—they had seen her.

  The moment the spirit fox stepped into view, her radiant form shimmering between the trees, the air had changed—softer, weightless, reverent. Time itself seemed to slow.

  One of the men, the youngest named Mikel, gasped openly, his eyes wide.

  “A spirit… that was… Did you see—?”

  “Shut it,” grunted the older one beside him, Dareth, though his tone lacked bite. He was too focused on the fading trail of light in the air. “That wasn’t just any spirit. That was a guardian.”

  The third, Jornas, crossed his arms over the saddle horn, stunned. “I’ve heard stories of shrine spirits appearing to devout monks… but Sir Kael? A unknown background?”

  Quin blinked hard, struggling to find words. His mouth was slightly agape. “…She looked at Master Kael.”

  “She bowed to him,” Mikel whispered. “Like she knew him.”

  Their voices dropped to murmurs, reverent and laced with awe, watching Kael—unbothered, unaware of how extraordinary the scene had just been from outside eyes. They dared not speak louder in fear of shattering the sacredness left behind.

  From the woods' edge, a soft breeze stirred once more, trailing silver threads of spirit light in the air. And though her form had vanished, Yunari’s presence lingered like a quiet heartbeat in the wind.

  She spoke no words, not to them—only to the world.

  May they reach their journey without shadow…

  May the wind carry them with kindness…

  And may he walk his fate without burdening sorrow…

  As the final breeze passed by Kael, a subtle glow touched his forehead, right between the brows. None noticed it—not even Kael—but the mark shimmered faintly for a second, like a memory kissed onto his soul. It left no visible trace, yet it was there: a hidden sigil of spiritual favor, a bond reignited.

  Jornas, who had been watching Kael closely, finally spoke.

  “He didn’t flinch,” he muttered. “He didn’t even question her.”

  Quin let out a low breath, still staring forward. “Because she wasn’t a stranger to him...”

  The others fell silent.

  Whatever passed between Kael and the spirit was not something to be interrupted—or understood. But somehow, they felt it in their bones. Their journey was now protected.

  Kael gave his horse a gentle nudge forward.

  “Let’s move,” he said calmly.

  The party resumed their path, the trees parting ahead like welcoming arms. The forest no longer felt heavy or ancient. It felt… watched. Guarded.

  Behind them, the broken shrine stood quietly beneath the dappled morning light—no longer forgotten.

  Almost noon.

  The sun loomed high above as Kael’s envoy approached the grand gates of the main capital. The stone towers that flanked the city shimmered faintly beneath the sunlight, casting long, regal shadows on the bustling road below. The gate guards, dressed in deep navy and silver, gave only a brief inspection, recognizing the royal sigil pinned discreetly beneath Dareth’s cloak the older soldier.

  “Open the path. Envoys from the eastern region,” one of them called. When the guard said this it was only heard by the few guards, Quin not hearing this and Kael already knew about this kept it to himself.

  With a loud creak, the massive gates parted.

  Their horses’ hooves softened on the polished cobblestone, the pace slowing instinctively. Inside, the capital was alive—carts rattled alongside roads, the smell of spices and roasted meat wafted through the air, and children ran barefoot between pillars of vendors calling out their wares.

  But Kael didn’t see that.

  His vision, veiled beneath the cloth, pierced beyond the ordinary.

  From behind the cloth, soft glows of spiritual mana ebbed and pulsed gently through the streets—threading from one cobblestone to the next, curling up from busy markets, and lingering over joyful passersby like drifting petals. It was a city thriving with old and new magic alike. To him, it pulsed like a living heartbeat.

  His horse, pristine white with a subtle silver mane, moved with silent grace. With each step, the breeze toyed with Kael’s cloak, making the silver chimes braided into his hair softly tinkle. People turned their heads—not because they recognized him, but because he looked different. Graceful, mysterious. Covered eyes, composed steps, and a silent poise not often found in ordinary travelers.

  Dareth leaned slightly closer to Quin as they rode through a narrower street lined with small inns and apothecaries.

  “We’ll head to the inn down by the scholar’s district,” he said lowly. “Shouldn’t be crowded this hour. We’ll wait for Lord Killian’s group there.”

  Kael gave a short, understanding nod, the light catching the delicate edge of the cloth covering his eyes.

  “Understood,” he replied quietly.

  Quin, always riding just slightly beside Kael, grinned.

  “Sounds good. I’m starving anyway.”

  The men chuckled lightly behind them, the tension of the forest road now long gone.

  As the road narrowed, they reached an arched wooden sign above a cobblestone lane. The space became too tight for mounted horses, and without needing a cue, the five dismounted.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Kael’s boots touched the ground softly. With a practiced ease, he slid down his horse’s side, landing without sound. Quin, ever attentive, handed Kael his carved wooden pole—more for others than for Kael himself. With it in hand, Kael walked as if blind, his steps measured, elegant. The three guards understood the act. They didn’t speak of it.

  As they walked beside their steeds, the citizens of the capital slowed their pace. Whispers rose around them.

  “Who is he…?”

  “Is he blind?”

  “No, look at how he moves—too graceful…”

  “That hair… and that chime—he must be someone important.”

  “A foreign emissary?”

  “No, I’ve never seen robes like his…”

  Kael said nothing, only continued walking with his chin slightly raised. The cloth over his eyes fluttered in the light breeze, his long braid swaying gently down his side shoulders, head covered by his white cloak hoods.. He never faltered. Even when a child dropped a fruit and ran across his path, Kael slightly turned—barely dodging—as if he sensed it before anyone else.

  Quin smirked to himself. “That never gets old,” he muttered to himself, amused.

  Finally, they reached the inn—a quiet, two-story building with climbing ivy on its stone walls and the smell of brewed tea escaping its windows.

  Dareth stepped forward and spoke to the keeper inside while the rest remained outside, tending briefly to the horses.

  “Rooms are ready,” Dareth said when he returned, motioning toward the small stables out back. “We’ll wait for Lord Killian here. Might take them until evening.”

  “Then we’ll rest here,” Kael said, voice calm and clear.

  The others exchanged glances. Mikel gave a nod of respect, Jornas stretched his arms, and Dareth gave a short bow to Kael before taking the horses toward the stable.

  Kael turned slightly toward the inn’s entrance, pausing as if sensing something nearby, but it was gone as quickly as it came. His fingers brushed his forehead unknowingly—where Yunari’s invisible mark still remained, warm for the briefest second before fading again.

  Without another word, Kael stepped quietly inside as his wooden pole ornaments chimed softly.

  The wooden door creaked softly as Kael and Quin stepped inside the inn, the scent of herbs and aged pinewood filling their senses. The innkeeper gave a polite nod, already aware of their arrival from Dareth’s earlier arrangement.

  Kael didn’t linger in the front hall. Without needing to ask, he moved with graceful familiarity down the narrow corridor, his footsteps light despite the weariness in his limbs.

  “Room’s this way,” Quin murmured behind him, half-smiling as he followed closely, a small leather bag slung over his shoulder.

  Dareth had already seen to the details. The room was simple but comfy, with three neatly made beds, a wooden table at the center, and an open window where soft daylight spilled in, carrying the muted sounds of the bustling capital below.

  Kael stepped inside first, his steps slowing as the weight of the journey pressed harder on his shoulders.

  “I’ll rest,” Kael said quietly, his voice calm but faint, as if something deeper stirred beneath his words. “My body feels... worn.”

  Quin nodded, setting his things aside near the bed closest to the door. “Go ahead, I’ll handle the rest. Want me to fetch water or anything?”

  “No need,” Kael replied, already removing his white cloak with slow movements, folding it neatly and hugging it briefly near his chest before placing it carefully by the door. There was something intimate in the gesture—ritualistic, like a habit formed long ago.

  He moved across the room, the ornamental chime in his hair—silver butterflies—jingling softly as he walked, catching the faintest glint of light with each step. Stray strands of dark hair danced gently, kissed by the breeze that flowed through the open window.

  Kael sat down slowly on the wooden stool beside the window, letting his fingers graze the frame as if to feel its texture. His hidden eyes turned toward the outside world—not truly seeing, and yet perceiving so much more.

  Below, the stone roads bustled with carriages and merchants, but to Kael, what he saw was the subtle flow of spiritual mana beneath bis covered eyes, humming in the very foundations of the capital. Life pulsed through it all—energy, memories, echoes of time.

  As Quin busied himself in the background—removing boots, checking their things—Kael’s mind drifted.

  He touched the side of his neck unconsciously, fingertips brushing the space where someone touches had been there, long ago but he couldn't remember it.

  That stormy gray jade, carved with a sigil known only to a few, flashed in his mind—worn by someone from his final moment as Asael, someone who had been both a memory and a shadow for months. It was the last thing he remembered… before everything changed.

  His chest ached, softly but deeply.

  “Asael,” he whispered inwardly. Not as a name, but a reminder.

  Quin glanced over. “You alright?”

  Kael blinked and gave the faintest of smiles. “...Just thinking. The capital hasn’t changed much.”

  Quin didn’t press. He knew better than to ask what Kael meant, not when his friend wore that faraway look.

  The wind shifted slightly, carrying the smell of bread and summer air.

  Kael leaned back a little, eyes hidden beneath his cloth, and let the memories swirl—untouched, yet present, like ghosts passing through the cracks of time.

  The soft wind outside the open window continued to stir the faint scent of pine and distant flowers. Kael, draped in silence and fatigue, had long succumbed to sleep—his cheek resting gently against the wooden table, his hand still near the fluttering silver butterfly ornament that chimed faintly in the breeze.

  And then—

  The world shifted.

  The scent of incense filled his lungs. Distant bells echoed, somber and slow. The world around him was cast in muted greys and cold white silks. He stood at the edge of a grand ceremonial hall, surrounded by shadowed figures dressed in mourning.

  He knew this place.

  Asael did.

  The marble floors stretched before him, lined with towering white pillars and the silent procession of nobles offering flowers at a crystal casket. Draped in royal garb was the Empress—her presence still elegant even in death.

  And standing not far ahead was a boy dressed in dark robes, his shoulders stiff, his head bowed low.

  Rayne.

  His back was to Asael, his golden hair loosely tied, some strands falling messily over his neck. He was still, eerily still. The grief that radiated from him was not loud—but crushing. Isolating. Asael’s heart pulled painfully in his chest, seeing that once bright boy shrouded in such darkness.

  Moved by instinct and memory, Asael stepped forward—his younger self moving through the quiet space until he stood beside Rayne.

  No words were exchanged.

  Rayne’s fingers suddenly reached out, grasping Asael’s hand tightly, intertwining them. The prince didn’t look at him, but his breathing hitched—shallow and trembling.

  Asael turned slightly, looking up at the one who had once meant so much to him. The one whose sorrow now felt like a knife in his soul.

  Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around Rayne.

  At first, Rayne stiffened. But then—

  He broke.

  His arms slipped around Asael’s waist, pulling him close. His whole frame shook violently against Asael’s chest. Asael said nothing. He just held him, rubbing his back slowly, gently, as though soothing a frightened child.

  Then came the words—muffled but raw:

  “Don’t leave… Asael… You’re the only one left, who understand me… I need you…”

  The whisper pierced through time. Through memory.

  In the dream, Kael felt it too. Felt it echo through his chest.

  And without truly understanding why, his voice—Asael’s voice—whispered back:

  “I won’t leave. I promise, Rayne.”

  Rayne clung tighter, burying his face in Asael’s shoulder as Asael leaned into him, heart heavy, eyes damp with tears he hadn’t realized were falling.

  That warmth, that moment of unspoken emotion… it lingered like a dying flame.

  Kael gasped.

  His body jolted awake, sitting up sharply as the wooden table beneath him scraped faintly. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths. For a few seconds, he was unsure where he was—until his vision adjusted to the dim light of the room.

  The gentle glow of sunset spilled through the window.

  Quin sat beside his bed, brows knitted in concern. He must have helped move Kael when he noticed him sleeping so deeply at the table.

  “Master Kael… You’re awake,” Quin said softly, voice laced with worry. “You were… crying in your sleep.”

  Kael blinked, and only then realized the wetness on his cheeks. He reached up, fingertips brushing the tears away.

  “I… dreamt something I forgot I had,” Kael murmured, voice hoarse.

  Quin didn’t press. He only reached for the small cloth on the nightstand and handed it over quietly. Kael accepted it with a faint, grateful nod.

  The room was quiet again. The other two beds untouched. Outside, the sounds of the street had mellowed as the day neared dusk.

  Kael leaned back against the headboard, cloth in hand, eyes turned slightly toward the fading light outside the window.

  “It hurts… doesn’t it?” Quin asked gently, glancing at him.

  Kael didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his hands—hands that once held someone else’s sorrow.

  “It does,” he finally whispered. “Because… even if I forgot it for a while… it mattered to me. He mattered to me.”

  And in that still moment, neither spoke further. Only the fading light kept them company, and the weight of a memory long buried… now awakened. Quin not even questioning Kael why he said 'He'.

  Silverstone Path – Afternoon

  The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting long shadows over the worn stones of the path. The wind carried with it the faint scent of pine and wildflowers, stirring cloaks and manes as the second envoy prepared to depart. Horses neighed softly, armor clinked, and final adjustments were made.

  Killian, cloaked and hooded, stood still beside his steed. The royal attire beneath his cloak was veiled with intent. Despite Quirl’s sharp gaze, the crown prince’s identity remained hidden.

  Beside him, Quirl, Seren, Liu, and a small troop of guards were already mounted and alert. When all was ready, a sharp whistle from Killian cut through the air—clear and steady.

  At once, hooves clattered in rhythm as the envoy began their journey, slow but sure.

  But only a short while into the ride, Quirl noticed Killian’s horse drawing to a gradual stop, eyes fixed ahead.

  “He’s stopping?” Quirl muttered, brows furrowed.

  Killian’s steed halted before a humble shrine, the same shrine Kael’s party had stopped by that very morning.

  Killian dismounted quietly.

  “I’ll pay my respects here,” he said, his voice steady, though laced with something unspoken.

  Quirl gave a brief nod, motioning for the others to halt. Seren and Liu exchanged glances knowing they crown prince behaviour has change since Asael death, then followed behind.

  As they stepped past the wooden torii gate of the shrine, a warm breeze swept across them—unnaturally gentle, wrapping around Killian like a silken ribbon of memory.

  Yunari, the spirit fox guardian, invisible to mortal eyes, watched silently from the mossy stone altar.

  Killian moved forward and knelt, pressing his palms together with reverence. For a long moment, he said nothing, only breathing in the stillness.

  Then he whispered, voice low and trembling just beneath the surface:

  “May my beloved… Asael… rest in peace. I’m sorry… for not being there earlier to save you.”

  Yunari flinched, unseen ears twitching.

  Asael…? My friend… Kael?

  The guardian's nine tails stirred, sensing the weight of truth that Killian himself didn’t yet know. Yunari’s tails brushed softly around Killian, enveloping him with invisible warmth. A comfort. A silent apology.

  Killian slowly rose, eyes lifting to the stone statue of Yunari—his gaze thoughtful, even as he did not understand why the shrine’s air felt so familiar… soothing.

  He turned without a word, walking back to his mount.

  “Ready to go?” Quirl asked gently.

  Killian only nodded.

  Behind them, Yunari’s silhouette, still unseen, lifted its gaze as the group began to ride away.

  Soon, the spirit fox thought. You will see him again.

  Evening – City Gates

  As the second envoy approached the capital’s guarded gates, twilight bathed the city in gold and shadow. The guards on duty squinted, recognizing a few faces—particularly the hooded figure with commanding presence.

  There was a moment of hushed awareness exchanged between them.

  Yet, they said nothing.

  Professionalism over politics.

  They saluted in silent recognition and opened the gates.

  The sound of footsteps on gravel reached the inn first.

  Quin, along with Jonas, Dareth, and Mikel, stood at the doorway in casual formation.

  Quin's sharp eyes flicked over the arriving horses, then softened as he saw Quirl approaching.

  “You made it earlier before night came,” Quin said.

  “We had fair weather and steady pace,” Quirl replied, dismounting. “And a brief stop.”

  His gaze landed on Killian, who nodded quietly in greeting. The cloak still hid most of his features.

  The soldiers from both parties exchanged nods, and pleasantries were brief. The air held the usual tension of familiar allies adjusting.

  “Where is Master Kael?” Quirl asked.

  Quin’s expression softened, tinged with concern.

  “Still resting. He fell asleep not long after we arrived this afternoon. He… looked exhausted.”

  Quirl nodded, then turned to Killian.

  “I’ll join you for the evening debrief shortly, my lord.”

  “Take your time,” Killian said. But hearing Quin's words about Kael's condition.

  As the rest moved inside, Quin quietly excused himself.

  Quin entered the dim room, the soft sound of the door closing behind him. He glanced at the bed where Kael now slept, then headed to clean himself. After a short while, he emerged, hair damp, dressed in simple attire and a dark leather wrap across his chest—ready for anything.

  He was fastening his belt when he heard it,

  A whimper.

  He turned.

  Kael was shifting on the bed, his face damp with sweat, brows drawn in distress.

  “Master Kael?” Quin walked over quickly, kneeling at the bedside. “Master Kael.”

  He called twice—firm, concerned.

  Suddenly, Kael jolted awake, breath shallow, as if yanked out of drowning.

  Quin reached out gently and pushed back the cloth over Kael’s eyes. What he saw struck him silent for a moment:

  Tears.

  Kael looked lost in another world. His stormy grey eyes, usually sharp and controlled, were glassy with emotion. A single tear slipped down his cheek.

  Kael let out a long breath, trembling faintly.

  “You’re safe,” Quin said softly. “But… you were crying. Was it… a nightmare?”

  Kael looked at him, then away.

  “No… it was a memory,” he whispered. “A promise I forgot.”

  Quin didn’t ask more. Not then.

  “Clean yourself up and come downstairs when you’re ready. Lord Killian’s envoys already arrived a while ago.”

  Kael froze slightly at the name. A sharp pain clenched in his chest.

  Killian.

  The name echoed with longing and heartache.

  “...Alright,” he said softly.

  Quin gave a small sigh, ruffled Kael’s hair lightly, then turned to leave.

  “Rest a little if you need to. I’ll tell them you’ll be down soon.”

  Once the door closed, silence returned.

  Kael sat still, arms wrapping around his knees.

  “Rayne…” he whispered.

  And the tears came again. Quiet. Unstoppable.

  Thirty minutes passed in fragile stillness as Kael let the sorrow run its course. He didn’t fight it—just held himself together as memories flooded him.

  Eventually, he wiped his face and stood. He moved toward the closed window, staring out at the last remnants of sunset. Then, with a sigh, he reached up and unpinned the ornament holding his long black hair.

  Kael stepped out of the bath, his skin warm and fresh. His long black hair fell damp down his back, unbound. He dressed in a loose white shirt, tucked neatly into black pants, and slipped into soft shoes. His face was calm now, but his eyes still carried the remnants of storm.

  He caught his reflection in the mirror briefly.

  Do you still remember me… Rayne?

  He didn’t wait for an answer.

  To be continued... >o<...

  *Author’s Note:

  Yunari — A name that signifies grace in stillness or gentle spirit. It holds meaning unique to this world, often tied to those with hidden strength or spiritual depth.